just like Moby Dick, but shorter and less whale-oriented.

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I assume this statement doesn’t catch anyone off guard. Everywhere you look, you will see one group pitted directly against another. As a country, we have been divided into two camps. There’s one very loud camp that will shout “Fake News!” while choosing to believe headlines like “Deep State throws Clinton emails and Constitution into Vitamix, shares smoothie with Putin and Pizzagate conspirators.”

No, that headline isn’t real, but it’s far more believable than it should be.

If you read that and started to feel smug, you better knock it off. The other side spends hours everyday discussing the same small slights that our president commits day in and day out while ignoring many other pressing issues. You don’t need to spend hours on these small things. Just wait for a big issue from the White House to pop up. You’ll only have to wait an extra hour or two.

It seems that now more than ever, we need some common ground. Something, anything, that we can grab ahold of. You would think sports are safe, but not so much. Just today ESPN (the world-wide leader in sports for those who don’t know) announced that they will not be showing the national anthem before their Monday Night Football broadcasts. This is because one side has chosen to exercise their first amendment rights in protest and the other side has chosen to exercise their first amendment rights to complain and protest because people are protesting.

Alright, sports are out. I’d say TV, but we seem to have been split between those who are thrilled that Tim Allen’s “Last Man Standing” is coming back to TV while the others watched last season’s “American Horror Story: Trump Edition” with glee.

I thought we might be able to agree on desserts, but I heard a guy on the radio yesterday raving about gluten-free angel food cake. I will never find any common ground with a sicko who loves gluten-free angel food cake.

I even went to the most basic beliefs. Nearly everyone in the country can agree that Nazis are bad for instance. The main detractors to that thought are Nazis and, as established, we all think they’re bad so we can easily ignore their opinion.

“Eureka!” I declared, startling my cat. Cats hate declarations.

There was a small snafu, though. Neither side can quite agree on who the Nazis are. It could be either the people on the right who have decided the idea of nationalism seems like the greatest thing since sliced bread or those on the left who are constantly stepping on free speech by saying things like “That racial slur you’re using is offensive.”

It’s a pretty tough call.

Then I landed on it. There is only one thing everybody in this great land can agree on. It was so simple that I don’t know how I missed it.

It’s pizza.

No, alt-right, I’m not talking about some sort of dog whistle meaning to the word pizza. I’m talking about crust, sauce, cheese, and toppings. It often comes in a large cardboard box.

If you ask anyone how they feel about pizza, they’ll say “I like it.” It doesn’t matter their age, race, religion, political party, opinion on national anthems, etc. They will all love pizza. Sure, their might be disagreement on the particular toppings or the crust or where we should order it from, but in the end we all can agree that pizza is pretty good.

I feel like pretty good is our best bet at this point.

In these trying times, I say we all look at what unites us. We can eat pizza until we feel like we’re going to explode, then slowly drift into a carb-induced coma. No more arguments. Just pizza naps.

Just don’t bring up pineapple. That might launch us into a second civil war.

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As you might have assumed based on the dates of these posts, I do not come to this blog very often anymore. I’m usually much too busy working and attempting to raise a mildly well-adjusted person to spend time here.

An odd thing happened today. I took the day to spend with my son. No other responsibilities until this evening. As does happen to two-year-olds, though, he got that catatonic look that says “You can either lay me down for a nap or I will collapse right here.” This left me with unforeseen time off, so I decided to wade into the cesspool of my old written words.

When I logged in, there was a backlog of comments. I thought I should take a second to address some of them.

First, I’d like to take a second to speak to a man named Jack. Assuming this person used their real name and resides in the US, that narrows this commenter down to one of 487,480 people. With that wealth of information about him, I feel like we’re practically best friends.

Anyway, a while back Jack decided to take some time to comment on a post about the irritation I had experienced from my neighbor’s wind chimes. This was written over four years ago. I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that I have not lived near this neighbor in nearly as many years, so I’m no longer irritated by them. Per Jack, I really never should have been:

Wow..I love wind chimes. You people should buy a properly tuned wind chimes. The Chinese pentatonic scale is the magic. It will heal you from various diseases as well as it brings prosperity into our home. Dissonant notes in the chimes really will.annoy you. Buy good one as you are buying a musical instrument. Take a musician along with you while you buy. Wrong notes will lead us to quarrel and gives irritation. So be careful.

Good luck.

What do you mean by you people, Jack? I’m so sick of the disparaging tone people use towards us in the anti-wind noise community. If I wanted to hear clanging of notes, I’d give my child a musical instrument. If I wanted to hear intune clanging of notes, I’d give him a toy that only played a single key. At least then I know that the clanging would end around 8:00.

As a musician myself, I don’t need to take anyone with me to pick wind chimes. I also don’t need to take anyone with me because I WOULD NEVER EVER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES BUY WIND CHIMES. I’m no doctor, but I’m going to go ahead and say 10 out of 10 real doctors would say wind chimes cure literally no disease. Of course if I ever want medical advice from the type of person who would prescribe acupuncture for stage three lymphoma, I’ll be sure to take their wind chime advice into account.

Then there was the lovely Jade. Or not lovely. There’s a pretty good chance the person isn’t really even named Jade. Jade took an issue with a post I had written about Vitamin Water flavors. More specifically Yumberry:

If you read the ingredients this drink contains neither yumberry or pomegranate.. everyone that buys it is a sucker thanks

Wow, Jade. You must be a real joy around kids.

“You know, that popsicle contains no actual fruit juices, so when you say you like strawberry, what you really mean is you bought into the corporate scheme of flavorings.”

I have no idea how you would randomly stumble across a post that is over six years old and I also have no idea why you would feel the need to comment on a piece with the main thesis being our forefathers would want us to craft a better berry than the Chinese. Nevertheless, here we are. In the future, I promise I will avoid stating that I like anything until I run it by you, okay?

I would be remiss if I ignored the comment from “Guy Fieri” on a post criticizing Guy Fieri:

How about you eat a triple decker dick?

I will not. One reason is I refuse to eat anything that has multiple decks. That’s just asking for me to feel bloated and uncomfortable. Secondly, I’m realtively certain that this is not food and should not be consumed. Or it could be. What’s the cholesterol content? I’ve been sticking to white meat and fish as much as I can.

Lastly, we have CanNotBelieveIWastedTimeOnThis:

You’re a moron and your writing is even worse. Do us all a favor and delete this garbage.

I want to take a second to commend you on your use of “you’re” and “your.” You nailed it! Trolls rarely can handle the basics of the English language, so I will say I was impressed.

I can only assume that you were very upset when I implied the idea of a Snuggie was ridiculous. Perhaps you’re the founder of the Snuggie company. Whatever the issue is I seem to have really gotten your goat. I would love to apologize to you in person. Unfortunately in your haste to determine what can be allowed on the internet, you FORGOT TO INCLUDE AN ACTUAL NAME. You know, kind of like a coward.

I guess, until we can discuss it in person, I’ll have to leave my words intact.

All of this is to say that I do read what you say and I take it to heart. And by that, I mean that I read it, laugh at the things people choose to be angry about, and then move on my merry little way.

Unless my kid is napping. Then I’ll use your unnecessary responses to kill the time. I’d give you coauthor credit, but since I have no idea who you are I guess I’ll just have to forget all about you.

Darn.

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Just over two weeks ago, I participated in the Nashville leg of the Women’s March. It was very nice to see that many people join together for a common goal.

At least that’s what I thought at the time. Now, I’m just peeved. I’m irked. I’m infuriated and enraged and furious and what not. I don’t know when the last time was that I felt this ripped off.

See, earlier today Donald Trump’s Communications Director and raging press conference haver Sean Spicer was interviewed on the only mainstream news source that occasionally reports non-fake news- Fox and Friends. When asked about the protests that have happened in response to Donald Trump, he had some very pointed words.

“Oh, absolutely,” Spicer said when asked whether the protesters to Donald Trump’s travel ban were paid. “Protesting has become a profession now.”

This isn’t the first time it has been brought up either. His Royal Orangenish tweeted about it just a few days ago. Right after the very march I participated in, many “legitimate” news sources like Constitution.com (clearly reputable based on its use of “Constitution”) reported that the marchers were paid.

This really chaps my hide. I just can’t believe the gall. Here I was marching, and not a single person told me I was supposed to get paid! I was just walking around like a chump while everyone else was rolling in the green.

Apparently George Soros is just unloading racks on racks on racks to protestors. Or, should I say, to SOME protestors. I guess some of us aren’t worthy of getting a piece of that $25 billion fortune.

Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I wasn’t marching with the appropriate fervor. I will admit, I did choose to not participate in many of the chants. That had nothing to do with the chants themselves. I’m just not much of a chanter. I tend to be more of a talker or, preferably, a silenter. If someone had told me, though, that I could become independently wealthy just by declaring that this, indeed, is what democracy looks like, I would have been completely hoarse the next day.

You know what… no. This wasn’t my fault in any way. What I lacked in chanting, I made up for in moderate walking and avoiding being trampled. I did that like a champ. If that doesn’t earn me a few bucks, I don’t know what does.

That is why I am calling you out, George Soros. As famed rapper Big Sean said, “Ain’t nothing more important than the moola.” Well, I want that moola. I am prepared to take you all the way to court until you have paid me the money I deserve. I want every cent of it.

And, Soros, don’t you dare try to tell me you didn’t pay any of the people at the march. If you do, you are saying that our carroty leader and his glorified mouthpiece are liars. And if they are lying, it would imply that they are not the leaders that they paint themselves as. They would never lie to us, right?

Right?

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Just over a year ago, there was a parade through the streets of Kansas City. Riding in truck beds, the members of the Kansas City Royals waved and cheered along with a crowd as the vehicles weaved throughout the downtown blocks. There were speeches from the players to the fans, a group who had waited decades for this moment. One of the players, Yordano Ventura, was reluctant to speak in English. It was not his first language, so he sheepishly spoke to the crowd.

The crowd cheered. They loved this team, a team known for its energy and attitude. No one showcased this more than Ventura, the Royals player with the highest ceiling. An incredible fastball was paired with an attitude and swagger that made fans love him, all while making opposing players despise him.

Today, there was a similar parade. This time, the location was in Ventura’s hometown in his native Dominican Republic. A truck drove through the streets, Ventura in the back. Only, this time the cheering was replaced with stunned silence. The crowd surrounding the truck followed alongside the casket that rested in the truck bed. In the United States, messages poured across the Facebook Live feed, continuing even after the spotty Dominican internet had left just a single frozen image on the screen.

“RIP Ace” they said. Some spoke of him in heaven chatting with Cy Young or pitching another game. Many described their shock that the 25-year-old could be gone, that his Jeep could have crashed off the road that night, that the reported events afterwards could have happened.

As a lifelong Royals fan, this hurts. Not just in a baseball perspective, but in a life perspective. I have watched since he made his Major League debut in 2013. I saw him pitch in honor of his friend Oscar Taveras in the 2014 World Series, a friend who also died far too early because of a car accident, throwing seven shutout innings. I watched him help bring home the first championship in decades for Kansas City, watched him fire up a team, watched him be called a hothead and Phenom and the future and, by one article, a possible future hall of famer if his potential was met.

With all of this, it can be easy to get lost in the “sports” of it all. He was not just the most promising pitcher on the team or the most explosive personality in a dynamic and unusually close-knit group of players. He was, mostly, a 25-year-old. A 25-year-old with his whole life in front of him.

In fact, if you asked the people who knew him, his baseball family, it wasn’t his baseball prowess that they brought up. It was his beaming smile, his energy, his vitality. They mention the little things that Yordano did, like referring to manager Ned Yost as “Nedyo” when he would pass him. It was this that endeared him to teammates and to fans.

This is why people are mourning at candlelight vigils in Kansas City and why teammate Danny Duffy was there alongside them, hugging these fans and letting them know things would be okay. It’s why Christian Colon stood alongside the crowd of fans, a crowd that has cheered him on as spectators hundreds of times, and just cried. It’s why teammates flew to the Dominican Republic and drove past the stadium where Ventura had learned to play baseball and through the town that had made Ventura what he was.

There are unsubstantiated reports that, after the car crash that had thrown Ventura out of his vehicle, he was found alive. Those who found him did not try to save Ventura, but rather assaulted him and stole his money, clothes, and the World Series ring he had worked so hard to get. This makes it even harder for those who are mourning him, knowing that, whether he ever played baseball again or not, he could still be here with his wife and family. In the coming days, there will be investigations into what caused the crash and whether this is true, but none of it matters.

Either way, the sports world and the world in general has lost a beloved member.

Maybe that’s why most of the messages that popped up on Facebook Live just said “RIP Ace.” How do you express your thoughts when the sports world and the real world collide tragically? When you remember that, aside from an athlete, those you are watching are just as mortal as the rest of us?

RIP Ace. It’s all you can really say.

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At some point in the life of every American child, they dream of becoming president of the United States. This is a dream slightly lower than the dream of magical space traveler and unicorn breeder, all with only a slightly higher likelihood of happening.

The thing they don’t tell you as a kid is one very specific thing: being president sucks. It is easily the most difficult job a person could ever be given. As President, you are in charge of nearly 320 million people. At any given time, 160 million of those people are going to hate the decision that you have made. They will express this by calling you all sorts of names that, for a lesser person, could lead to a week of crying in the fetal position.

That’s a lot of negative feedback. For someone to be a President, they have to have thick skin. Or, at least they used to. Now we have elected an orange man who has feuded for years with Rosie O’Donnell and repeatedly has tried to pick a fight with Saturday Night Live. He seems to have taken “fight fire with fire” to heart, and he is going to fight every fire 140 characters at a time.

As I have grown, I realize that there exists no dimension where I would want to become President. There probably isn’t even a dimension where I would want to be a Senator, or a Congressman. I think City Council might even be off of the table. I am just now adjusting to taking care of myself and my child. I think adding random strangers into the mix could be a disaster.

With that said, I think I would be a very good public figure. You might be wondering why I, the person who just admitted to a moderate level of irresponsibility, thinks he could become a public governmental figure. The answer is simple: EVERYONE thinks they would be a great politician. If you doubt this, find any random person and ask them what the problem is with the country. If you wait long enough, you will hear them say “You know what we should do?” The issue is, that none of these people with brilliant ideas actually wants to lead. They just want to backseat drive the Presidency.

Maybe that’s what it takes. Plato said in The Republic that a reluctant leader is the best leader because they will not give in to a love for materials.* Maybe Plato is saying people like me should be involved in politics. We could change the world for (hopefully) the better.

I suppose that means I should start campaigning now for the next election. I have watched all of the episodes of “House of Cards”, so I know what I’m getting into. I will start in congress, work my way up to the Vice Presidency through all sorts of questionable means, then move into the presidency through even more questionable methods. If my calculations are correct, I should be in the White House by 2028.

That seems like a whole thing, though. I think I’ll let someone else pick up the reluctance baton. Besides, that plan was assuming that our new president hasn’t destroyed the world by that time in a fit of rage directed at the first country leader who says they enjoy CNN’s news coverage.

That’s a pretty big assumption.

*I know it may sound like I’m trying to showcase my highfalutin elitist education by referencing Plato. Full disclosure: the reason I thought of this was because of the Childish Gambino song “We Ain’t Them”, not because of my thorough philosophical research. Unless Childish Gambino counts as philosophical research. In that case, I am very well researched.

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​Alright… I know it’s been a bit since I posted. I hate to drop something heavy here right now, but I have to say this. I promise that, if you read through, I’ll make it all better at the end.It’s 2:42 am on November 9th. Just an hour ago, the unthinkable happened.

The United States elected Donald J. Trump as president.

Now I’m unable to sleep. I’m assuming this feeling is felt by many across the globe. Just the thought of this man being in charge has sent shockwaves throughout the economic world. The Dow futures are down 300 points. The Peso’s value has plummeted 12% to an all-time low. Asian markets have had similar results.

An hour as president-elect and apparently that’s enough to threaten a global recession.

As I lie here trying to wrap my head around what has happened, there isn’t a feeling of disappointment. I don’t feel sad and I’m not angry. The only word that comes to mind is ashamed.

I am ashamed that we (And, yes, I say we because, for better or worse, every American is now in this potential dumpster fire together) have elected a man president who represents everything that we as humans beings should be against. Our human nature should lead us to hope and pray for the best for everyone else. Whether ensuring that these opportunities are afforded to everyone is a government’s job is up for debate, but the idea that we have placed a man into office that has never shown an ounce of empathy or sympathy in one second of this campaign is staggering.

I do understand how this happened. In the years I have been alive, I have seen the government become viewed by many, me included, as a broken system that does not have the best interest of any of it’s constiuents at heart. Trump found this fear.

That was just the baseline fear. On top of that, Trump piled on fears of Islamic terrorists, unfounded fears of job loss, fears of immigration and the evils this would bring and, most of all, a fear of change. He dumped this all into a terrible fear parfait and then shoved it into our mouths every chance he could get. He catered towards our fears so well, the terrorist groups around the globe should take note.

What this created was a voter base made up two groups: the anti-establishment crowd who just wanted to get in there and destroy everything like they were the Sid Vicious of voting, and the crowd who was afraid. Tack onto this an unpopular candidate on the other ticket and this has allowed for a Republican house, Senate, and president, an ironic end when you realize the anti-establishment crowd just essentially handed one group of mostly established people unchecked power.

We are about to see any progress we have experienced in the last decade-plus reset back to zero. Millions will likely be without health care. Others will fear for everything they’ve put together in life including the very basic freedoms that have been laid out in the Constitution and upheld through 240 years, a Civil War, two World Wars, a great depression, and, for some reason, multiple iterations of the Gong Show.

For some, it will look like a good thing. For others, this spells out a terrifying and uncertain time. I could be raising my child in one of the most dangerous times in post-reconstruction America as, based on previous comments and promises on the campaign trail have indicated, millions of people could find themselves on an unimaginably uncertain teeter totter thanks to a man who has bullied himself into the highest office in the land.

With this said, the answer is not to dwell. Today, thousands of people are declaring that Donald Trump is “not my president.” He is, though. For better or worse, the leader of our country is a man who has said many of the most deplorable things any politician has ever publicly said. No one should focus their energy on rejecting the past. We need to turn our focus on the future and do what we can to change this world for the better.

I hope in four years, I’ll look back on this and laugh at how wrong I was. I hope we’ll all be better off and that Trump will be a president for all people like he’s promised and not just SOME people (white males).

I think there might be many more sleepless nights before I get to that point.

Look! It’s a kitty. I told you it would be worth it!

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Ladies and gentleman, the time has arrived yet again. You may have recognized it by the seemingly endless streams of people who seem to have no idea what they’re saying suddenly discussing whether Peyton Manning still has anything left in the tank or what Cam Newton will bring to the game. The biggest sporting event in the world (if you ignore 195 out of the 196 countries) has arrived.

This 50th championship game will pit the Denver Broncos and Peyton Manning, a quarterback who is roughly 178 years old and may be playing his last game, against the Carolina Panthers and Cam Newton, a much younger quarterback who seems to be hated by a large number of people. I personally attribute this hatred to the lack of pizza commercials he stars in, but I’m no sports marketing expert.

It should be a very exciting game. Or maybe it will be a boring one. I refuse to make any guarantees. Regardless, I will do everything I can to make sure you miss nothing throughout this most important of sporting events. Stay tuned.

2:47- I turn on the pregame show.

2:48- My wife declares that we have time to watch Saturday Night Live before the game starts. We then spend the next few minutes debating which should be watched. My point is that I literally just turned on the TV. Her point is “So what?”

2:52- I tell her that if she is going to watch SNL, she needs to do it now. She acts as if I am being unreasonable by letting her watch this. I spend the first half of the episode feeling confused and disoriented.

4:33- After a couple pauses, we get back to the pregame show. Larry King is discussing Peyton Manning’s tendency to call “Omaha!” while snapping the ball. I furiously begin Googling Larry KIng’s age.

4:52- An expert predicts that Peyton Manning will have a “sufficient game.” He really should calm down on that hyperbole.

5:00- A bunch of celebrities share Super Bowl memories. At least that’s what it sounds like. I was in the kitchen getting wings to shove in my facehole, so I wasn’t paying much attention.

5:05- All of the Super Bowl MVPs are introduced and allowed to walk onto the field. I believe this is the NFL’s effort to remind us that youth is fleeting and that someday you will be an old creeper like Joe Namath.

5:16- Jim Gaffigan is introduced as the new Colonel Sanders. That forces me to type the most confusing sentence I have ever typed.

5:22- Important note from Ron Rivera, Carolina head coach. He thinks that they need to keep an eye on their guys. Good strategy.

5:26- An armed forces chorus sings “America The Beautiful.” Just incase you were worried that no celebrity would be involved, Marlee Matlin does sign language to the song.

5:34- An advertisement for the “Hawaii 5-0” Valentine’s event is aired. I’m sure that will be a very romantic episode to share with the one you love.

5:35- Coin Flip. Tails is the call. It turns out to be tails, so Carolina makes Denver take the ball.

5:39- Kickoff!

5:40- First in-game reminder that Peyton Manning is the oldest quarterback in Super Bowl history.

5:45- After starting off strong, the Broncos settle for a field goal. 3-0 Broncos.

5:50- Jeff Goldblum and Lil’ Wayne star in a commercial together. I look it up, but number of Lil’ Wayne Super Bowl commercials seems to be the only Super Bowl thing you couldn’t gamble on.

5:54- The Panthers punt the ball.

5:58- The announcers tell us it is “almost time for the Pepsi Superbowl 50 halftime show.” There are still 8 minutes left in the first quarter. Clearly the definition of “almost” is a bit fuzzy for them.

6:07- Cam Newton fumbles the ball. The ball goes into the endzone. The Broncos grab it for a touchdown. After an extra point, it’s 10-0.

6:09- The two teams almost fight, but the refs don’t let it happen. Sometimes referees can be so unreasonable.

6:13- The Broncos get called for taunting. Instead of getting the ball, the Panthers keep the ball. Plus, their parents are going to be sooooo mad! Instead of using this as an opportunity, they punt the ball back.

6:20- Now Denver punts the ball.

6:21- Second in-game reminder that Peyton Manning is old. They show a nice graphic showing that Cam Newton is, indeed, younger than Peyton Manning.

6:23- The first quarter ends. Denver leads 10-0.

6:24- I sit pensively wishing I had more chicken wings.

6:31- The Panthers score touchdown and make the extra point. I miss the whole thing because I was trying to get a podcast edited. I realize I’m a bad sports fan. Anyway, the score is 10-7.

6:42- The Broncos punt the ball after Carolina hits a bunch of players and shows why there’s a whole movie about football concussions.

6:44- The sideline reporter lets us know that players have changed their shoes during this game because they need better footing. What a bunch of divas.

6:48- The Broncos have the longest punt return in Super Bowl history. It is X yards. (Note to self: remember to update the number once you stop being too lazy to look it up.) (Second note to self: forget that first note because you know that will never happen.)

6:52- The Broncos kick a field goal. 13-7.

6:57- The Panthers fumble. Then the refs say they didn’t fumble. Not ones to give up, they fumble the next play. That’s called giving it your all.

7:03- Peyton Manning throws an interception. This disappoints my wife because “I like Manning. He’s a good man.”

7:08- After getting the ball back, the Broncos end up punting again.

7:18- It’s halftime. Other things happened in between my last post and this. Namely me not paying attention.

7:26- Peyton Manning is called Father Time by one of the halftime show announcers. That’s a bit rude.

7:29- The halftime show begins with Coldplay’s Chris Martin almost being run over by a frantic mob. No one has ever been that excited about Coldplay in real life. No one.

7:37- Oh! I get it! Beyonce and Bruno Mars are singing back and forth. And Coldplay was left for dead somewhere. With that said, I neglect the halftime show to go to the bathroom.

7:52- Kickoff part deux!

8:00- Because Carolina seems intent on losing, they miss a field goal.

8:01- A commercial shows dogs standing on each other’s shoulders and wearing a trench coat to buy Doritos. No information is given as to where these dogs got money.

8:07- Denver field goal. They now lead 16-7.

8:16- Denver intercepts a tipped pass. Then they fumble the ball. Then Denver gets the ball after a defender rolls around on the ground with a handful of Panthers players. It was exciting, but not as exciting as the commercial that followed featuring dozens of dachshunds in hot dog costumes running to people dressed like bottles of ketchup.

8:22- Denver punts the ball.

8:23- According to Honda, sheep love Queen and sing along with it when humans aren’t around. Honda is a of bunch liars and, because of that, I will boycott their products. Unless they want to give me one. Then I’ll willingly sell out all of my principles.

8:30- Carolina punts the ball. The third quarter ends with Denver ahead 16-7.

8:36- Peyton Manning fumbles the ball. Now the Panthers have it.

8:43- Panthers field goal. 16-10 Denver lead.

8:44- Christopher Walken compares the Kia Optima to an exciting pair of socks. While this did not change my opinion of the Kia Optima, it did make me wish my sock game was better.

8:54- The Panthers punt the ball. Again.

8:58- Guess what happens now? Hint: It involved Denver’s punter.

9:01- Fumble by Cam Newton and recovered by Denver inside the five yard line.

9:05- Touchdown by Denver. Then the refs decide to review the call.

9:07- Official touchdown by Denver. They get the two-point conversion and Denver leads 24-10.

9:16- According to the announcers, Peyton Manning is still old.

9:22- The game ends. Denver wins the championship. They show someone crying, but he isn’t wearing a jersey, so you don’t know if it’s tears of joy or sorrow.

9:24- Peyton Manning almost retires, then instead says he wants to kiss his wife and drink a lot of beer.

So there you have it. It was a game full of a lot of turnovers and punting. I think, reflecting on the journey, we can all agree on the moral of this story.

Sheep all love to sing Queen. Who would’ve guessed it?

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When I was a child, I learned of a concept called “The Fruits of the Spirit” in Sunday School. After the inevitable Fruit of the Loom jokes crafted by our well-developed eight-year-old comedic sensibilities had faded away, we would learn that these fruits were the following: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

I always liked to equate these to actual fruits. Love, for instance, would be something sweet and juicy like a strawberry. Joy might be a pineapple. Peace would be a peach, faithfulness something confusing like a star fruit, gentleness a ripe pear. I’m not sure what kindness, goodness, or self-control would be, but there was one fruit I knew without a doubt.

Patience was the overripe honeydew melon leftover at the bottom of a fruit salad after the strawberries and pineapples were picked out. Patience is the fruit that no one ever wants under any circumstances ever because it is always a huge bummer.

I myself hate patience.

I want every single thing immediately. When I have to wait for Netflix to buffer, it is torture. The other day, my phone restarted after an update and I was fairly certain that the Earth had stopped spinning and time would never again move forward. I need everything to happen without delay and I need it pronto. I’m aware this isn’t a great character trait, but most of the time all it does is lead to irritation to those around me.

Sometimes, though, it can come back on me hard.

Last week, my wife and I went camping. This had been a trip planned for months. We had purchased all of the things you need for camping: sleeping bags, marshmallows, graham crackers, chocolate… also some other things I’m sure. The biggest purchase had been a brand new shiny tent never taken out of its package.

When we arrived at the campground, though, the threat of rain was imminent. It began sprinkling as we headed towards our campsite.

“Why don’t we wait for the rain to pass?” my wife asked. She can be very sensible. She also has a strong dislike for sitting around in wet clothes. I’m not sure which of these were guiding her in this thought, but either way I was having none of it.

“No. I just want to get the tent set up. It’s not raining that hard.” And with that, we hopped out and hurriedly began setting up the tent. I hammered stakes, she did whatever it is that my wife does while I hammer stakes. It was probably mumbling about the rain, but I can’t be sure.

Then it happened. The rain began to pick up. Together, the two of us began assembling poles while cursing the fickleness of Mother Nature. She must have heard us because the rain picked up even harder. Then the hail came. Tiny pea size hail falling on us and our poor tent. We shouted and rushed about assembling poles and trying to survive the barrage of hard pellets trying their best to destroy us. Finally we finished and ran to the car.

It was less than five minutes later when the hail stopped. And the rain. Then the clouds disappeared and the sun was shining. If I had waited just a few more minutes, I would not have been there feeling tiny pieces of ice stuck in my hair slowly melting.

There are a handful of lessons contained in this story. First of all, hail makes it difficult to set up a tent. Secondly, setting up a tent can never be done as quickly as you think it will be.

Most important, though, is sometimes a bit of patience is necessary. Even though it seems terrible, sometimes you have to gobble up that terrible, stupid overripe melon of patience.

Especially when your wife suggests it. She’s usually right about these things.

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Sometimes, eating healthy can be confusing. I mean, on the surface it isn’t overwhelmingly confusing. In fact, on paper it is very straight-forward and simple. Essentially, all you do is look at every single thing you think is delicious, make a list of it, then realize that every single thing on that list is terrible for you and will eventually destroy you from the inside out. Then you swear off eating all of those things forever, thus guaranteeing that the rest of your life will be bland and flavorless until the day that you shuffle off of this mortal coil.

The confusing part comes in when you attempt to stop that last “flavor-related” bit.

I am a big fan of hamburgers. There has never been a day in my life where the idea of eating a hamburger upset me. I like hamburgers so much that there’s a fair chance that if I were to locate and find a genie, I would use one of those three wishes for a burger right there on the spot. Yes, I would regret the wasted wish, but not until I was done shoveling that burger directly into my face.

While I love hamburgers, though, I know that they’re bad for me. That is why I have spent much of my life ordering something called a “turkey burger.” It’s all the fun of a burger minus much of what makes it delicious. By that, I mean cow. Cow is a very flavorful meat. Turkey, meanwhile, is also a meat. That is where the similarities end. No, turkey burgers are not as good as hamburgers. I, however, followed the rationale that eating this would be better than eating no burger at all.

Then today I went one step further.

While turkey is lean, a burger can be healthier in one way. See, there is no fat in a veggie burger. Vegetables are always healthier than any sort of meat. I think I read that on the internet one time. Or maybe it was some sort of PETA propaganda literature. Whatever the source, it seemed to make sense to me. That’s why I ate a veggie burger today.

So far, nothing seems all that confusing. That is until you find out what sort of veggie burger I was eating. It was a “California Turk’y Burger” by MorningStar. MorningStar only makes vegetarian products. That means I was eating a veggie burger flavored like a turkey burger.

I was eating a replacement for a replacement of a hamburger.

I would love to have been in the pitch meeting for this product.

“Look, team, people are just getting tired of the same old veggie burgers. If we don’t do something right this second, there is a good chance MorningStar will go the way of the Buffalo. Does anyone have any new ideas?”

“Well, boss, I have one. You know how people sometimes eat turkey burgers because they’re healthier? What if we made a veggie burger that was flavored like a turkey burger?”

“But, Jenkins, why would anyone buy a burger that’s flavored like a less delicious burger?”

“I don’t know, sir, but I bet at least one idiot in Nashville will do it.”

If the trend continues, I’m not sure what I will be doing. Maybe I’ll just inhale the scent of a turkey flavored veggie burger. That way I’ll just be consuming air that smells like a burger that tastes like a turkey hamburger. Of course, that might be too many calories. I’m not sure how many calories are transmitted through scent, but it has to be fewer than a veggie burger.

Or, better yet, I’ll just give up on the whole thing and eat hamburger after hamburger until my body cries uncle and I die a hamburgery and very clear unconfusing death.

Sure, I’ll be dead, but what a way to go.

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